Stay
by Phantomdeath
Summary: Tony's having a rough night. Gibbs' basement is the best place to be, right? Emotional!Tony. Parental/Friend!Gibbs. Oneshot.


Gibbs heard his front door open and close. Judging by the footfalls, it was Tony. He kept sanding his boat, waiting for the agent to come downstairs on his own terms. Footsteps crossed by the basement entrance a few times before stopping near the front door. He resisted the urge to yell up and tell him to just get his ass down here, already.

After a few minutes, Tony trudged down the stairs, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He sat on the bottom step, watching as Gibbs brought the sander carefully across the wooden rib. _With the grain_ , Tony recalled. His own ribs ached as though they, too, had been ground into submission. He shook as another wave of memories washed over him. This was the safest place he knew; he didn't trust himself much right now and needed safe. He curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. Tony faced away from Gibbs as tears burned in his eyes and traced hot paths down his cheeks. He resented them, hated the physical display of weakness. But damnit if he could do anything about it. It took everything in him to keep the sobs wracking his exhausted body silent. The tears and aching ribs were just collateral damage.

Gibbs watched Tony out of the corner of his eye. He kept his motions steady and slow, careful to not make any sudden movements. Figuring his agent would talk when he was ready, he worked silently, as though Tony wasn't there. His gaze drifted over to the bottle of bourbon on his workbench. He considered pouring his distressed agent a glass but decided to wait a while.

Tony forced himself to focus on the methodical scrape of sandpaper against wood. He deeply inhaled the scent of sawdust, stale coffee, and bourbon. It helped him relax ever so slightly, reminding him Gibbs was there and wouldn't let him do anything too bad. The chill from the basement crept through his already freezing bones. He didn't have the energy or motivation to go back upstairs for a blanket. Just as he succumbed to visible shivering, an old NIS sweatshirt fell across his lap. Tony looked up with red-rimmed eyes. He couldn't find it in himself to care that Gibbs saw. Wordlessly, he slipped the hoodie on, quickly putting his hands in the pocket. The material was soft against his skin, worn from years of wear. It smelled like Gibbs; like security.

The marine walked over to his workbench and dumped some nails out of a mason jar. He opened the bourbon, pouring a generous amount into the jar and his coffee mug.

Tony's hand shook as he took the offered glass.

Gibbs noted the dark bruises across each of his agent's knuckles. The skin on two of them had ripped open and was bleeding, but it didn't appear Tony had broken any bones. He guessed the other hand looked much the same. It wasn't a surprise, yet Gibbs was still mildly annoyed. DiNozzo chose to not wrap his hands, instead, abusing them to the point of purple, ripped skin. At least, judging by the damage, his target had been something relatively soft. _What happened to you, Tony?_ He wouldn't ask. He'd wait.

Tony downed the drink in a single swallow. It burned like a bitch, but he welcomed anything resembling warmth. His fingers had gone numb in the cold. They throbbed less that way. He got to his feet and poured himself another glass. And another. The next time he lifted the bottle, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He set the jar on the workbench before returning to his place on the stairs.

Gibbs dragged a chair over. He stayed far enough away so Tony didn't feel cornered but still close enough to talk, should his agent wish to. It didn't take long.

"He's dead, Gibbs," he choked out.

"Who?"

"Luke... one of my frat brothers. Wrapped his car around a tree." His words were coming methodically, numb.

"Suicide?" Gibbs already knew the answer. He was familiar with DiNozzo's ability to handle deaths of those close to him. And his agent was taking this one hard.

He nodded. "Girlfriend found his note." His hands shook as he wrapped them around his torso. He hated how weak he looked in front of Gibbs. _I should be able to fix myself. DiNozzos don't ask for help- don't need help,_ he silently corrected. _Never been a good DiNozzo, have you?_ He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth.

Gibbs saw the shift in Tony from raw pain to anger. "Tell me."

In a quick motion, he stood. "What's the point? Talking won't bring him back," Tony said as he faced the wall. He made a fist and drew his arm back. A strong, solid hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him away from the bricks.

"You'll break your hand."

"I don't care," he said, fighting to hit something, anything; anything to make the agony manageable. He knew how to handle external pain.

Gibbs pinned Tony's hands at his sides.

His senior field agent screamed, "I don't care," in a raw voice.

"Shh." Gibbs held tight but was careful to not hurt the man in his arms.

"I-" Tony choked. "I don't care," he whispered as his muscles slackened against his boss's arms. "I don't... I don't.. care." He started crying.

Slowly, Gibbs let go.

Tony fell to his knees, face buried in his hands.

Gibbs sat beside him, putting a warm hand on his agent's shoulder. He squeezed it, gently. Studying his boat, he let Tony cry, not moving his hand. He wished there was more he could do. If it was Abby, he'd've already pulled her into a hug and held her while she cried against his chest. But this was Tony: proud, stubborn, a little vain. Gibbs looked at the man before him: curled up in his sweatshirt, using the sleeves to hastily wipe tears from his miserable eyes. Tony's shoulders were sagged in defeat, the dark circles under his eyes were accented by their red rims and the pallor of his cheeks. Gibbs ached to hug him, to give him the fatherly love Tony desperately craved but was too proud to ask for. But the marine wouldn't make the first move.

"I should've done something." His voice was thick.

"There was nothing you could do. It was his decision," Gibbs said softly.

Tony took out his cell. "He called me. Twice. He never called, Gibbs. Never." He swallowed; it did nothing for the growing lump in his throat.

"There's no way you could have known, Tony."

"You'd know. You'd know if I was calling to tell you I wanted to crash my car." The bourbon loosened his tongue, making the uncensored words spill from his mouth. "You'd at least answer," he amended.

Gibbs couldn't deny that. He rarely ignored a call, especially those from his agents. His grip on Tony's shoulder tightened.

He dropped his phone on the ground. Tears burned in his eyes and his held his face in his hands again. He couldn't let his boss see him cry a third time in one night.

"Tony, look at me."

He shook his head.

"That's an order."

Tony looked up, his eyes red and glistening.

"Luke made his own decisions, Tony." He barely spoke above a whisper. "Maybe answering the call would've made a difference, maybe it wouldn't. You can't know. You can't blame yourself for his suicide." He paused. "You didn't fail, Tony. It's not your fault." Gibbs searched his agent's eyes for any sign the man truly heard him. He was met with a glazed over, empty expression. "Hey. You listenin'?"

"Sorry, Boss. Yeah, I heard you."

"Talk to me."

"I don't know what to do." His voice sounded empty and wrong.

"Sleep. You need it. C'mon," he said and stood, offering DiNozzo a hand.

Tony took it and pulled himself shakily to his feet. He swayed slightly before following Gibbs to the guest room. He was able to compose himself a bit as they walked. The room was just as he remembered it and the bed was already made up. "Expecting me, Boss? Or maybe someone else?" He asked with a small smirk.

Hearing His agent's light humor, Gibbs breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Goodnight, Tony." He turned to leave, but a desperate hand gripped his arm.

Tony's hand was around Gibbs' bicep before he completely realised what he had done. He flashed back to being a kid and begging his dad to stay in his room the night after his mom died- the man refused, telling his son to 'man up and quit crying.'

Gibbs looked from Tony's hand to the agent's face. He saw the raw fear and panic of a kid.

"Stay?" Tony asked. Part of him hated how childish he sounded. The other part didn't care. He needed him there-to see him and know he wasn't leaving.

Gibbs took Tony gently by both shoulders. "You're safe. I'm not goin' anywhere. "

Tony cautiously wrapped his arms around Gibbs, resting his head on the man's shoulder. He was rewarded by the marine tightly returning his hug.

"I got ya, Tony," he said softly. "I got ya."


End file.
